


Sam Can't Sleep

by charachanplz



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: A little bit of angst in there, But a LONG one shot, Comedy, Liberty is a cute name for Sybil's baby golly so I'm using that, Mild Language, One Shot, Other, Sam and Max season 3 spoilers, This is the longest thing I've ever written, also the ocs are minor, just a bit, like jesus H. christ 22 pages, the devil's playhouse spoilers, the freelance police is actually a big honkin family, this is a mess, this takes place in the cartoon... kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 09:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15458796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charachanplz/pseuds/charachanplz
Summary: Sam is sleep deprived and neither Max nor Geek like it. neither does him. shenanigans ensue.





	Sam Can't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Iiiii realized I'm better suited for writing one-shots than writing stories with chapters. and even then I don't write much. Still, hope you enjoy this... short story. my friend Alex from the Freelance Discord helped me beta and proof read this beast (which they read multiple times, god bless 'em) and I am forever grateful for the help cleaning it up.

**Sam Can't Sleep**

_Based on the 15th Century Children’s Lullaby: “Let’s Knock Samuel Out with a Boulder”_

 

It was a cool, dingy night in New York, like the hot dog vendor’s cooler holding week-old weenies for unsuspecting customers. The rats gambled in the shadows of sketchy looking alleys, Rival gangs filled the streets with bullet shells and “napping” criminals, and the stars twinkled uselessly under the city’s overwhelming smog. A typical night for the Big Apple. But the freelance police don't take bites out of this apple’s rotten spots at night, oh no. They sleep peacefully in their home, comatose to the world until the commissioner calls them for a new, exciting case, so they can spring into action. In fact, with how quick Sam sprang up from his lower bunk, Max was sure that they were given an especially interesting one, or he would have to regret waking the lagomorph up with his big dumb forehead hitting the upper bunk at mach speed.

“Ooooh, what is it Sam?” Max peeked down at the bunk under his own, startling the bigger officer, “Did the commissioner enter your mind and speak to you in your dreams to tell you about a pack of angry cowboys losing their representation in Hollywood through the falling popularity of Westerns?”

Sam rubbed at his forehead, looking away from the rabbit and towards the open window. He clumsily shook his head, seemingly not paying attention to his partner anymore. How queer.

“Sam? Was that a yes or a no? C’mon, don't let the author answer for you. She uses stupider words than you, like queer.”

Rude.

The canine man finally shook himself out of his trance, and answered his little buddy more directly: “No, no! Just woke up from a sudden case of heatstroke. Sorry ol chum, no late night cases.”

This was weird, even for his overly weird dog friend. This is the 3rd time this week he's woken up due to a heatstroke! But then again, this place is an oven after Max messed up the ventilation by crawling through the vents, and Sam, like the prude he is, even overdresses for bed like some kind of masochist.

“Mind if I open the window for a bit of crisp air?” said masochist asked, already getting up from his place in the sunken mattress.

Max didn't really see a reason not to. He wanted to go back to sleep anyways, it was the only time acceptable in this backwards reality where he could be lazy and shut everything off for 8+ hours. “Sure, but don’t come crying to me when the noxious gases from outside poison you in your sleep. I kept telling you, blowing up while on top of the statue of liberty during 4th of July was the best way to die, gotcha?”

“You’ve always known how to crack me up, little buddy.” He got up, and opened the window he was giving the stare before, lingering a little longer than needed to cool down with the carbon dioxide infested air. But Max has done enough wondering for the week. It tired his brain down back to drowsiness. He'll rest up a bit, maybe do some more wondering in the morning. Or was it wandering? Yeah, he’ll wonder with an “a” instead.

He felt the bunk bed slightly bounce, and yawned out.

“Night Sam.”

Sam buried himself under the blankets, and stared at the now open window, still wide-eyed

“Goodnight, Max.”

 

♤♤♤

 

The big ol’ dog gave another big ol’ yawn.

“Geez, Sam, can't believe waking up once in the middle of the night screwed over your entire sleep cycle.” Max commented, mouth full of donuts, hot dogs, and other non-breakfasty foods. “Who would've thought six-foot tall dog-brains were so sensitive?”

“The brain of a six-foot tall dog, Max,” quipped their favorite pre-teen mad genius, Darla Gugenheek (better known as The Geek), as she served herself some generic-brand of breakfast cereal. “You make it sound like Sam’s made entirely out of brains.”

“That would explain all that jiggling fat.” Max commented with a grin, earning a dirty look from the subject of their conversation. He quickly added to his jab; “It's a compliment! Y’know, all brains, no muscle-”

“Oh, quiet you.”

“Good to see you’re at least responsive.”

The Geek continued on with her circling thoughts, eating the sugary meal becoming more of an instinct. Sam really did look kind of sleep deprived, but she doubted it was from suddenly waking up at night, and immediately going back to sleep. Heck, suddenly waking up at night didn't sound natural in of itself, but here they were, it's become part of his routine. Like brushing your teeth, or wondering what to wear, or-

The home phone rings.

“I GOT IT! I GOT IT!”

Max jumped out of his seat, and booked it for the phone like a mad jackrabbit on coke. But with another yawn, Sam stretched out one closed fist right into the rabbity thing’s path, causing him to crash into it and fall over with a loud thud.

“Whoops. Sorry little pal” muttered Sam, grabbing the phone from behind him.

 _Or knocking your co-worker into the ground while fighting for the phone,_ thought Geek.

“Mmhmm? Yes? Yes? You don't say. Get outta here! Hmm… Holy soup demons… dancing on top… midget… teenagers with _*yawn*_ vitiligo!”

That holy phrase was so bad and nonsensical it woke Max up from his concussion to cackle at the stupidity of whatever he just heard.

“We’re on our way, chief.” Sam finished, and clumsily placed the phone back into its base, slowly getting up. “C’mon Max, we’ve got a ridiculous case we can blindly dive head first into like young puppies diving for bone prints at the bottom of their water bowls.”

“Hold on, Sam,” Darla suddenly stood up to get their attention, “you look like you’ll pass out at any minute now. Are you sure you want to drive today? Y’know, speeding down the highway full of metal boxes with a metal box of your own? You could get unintentionally hurt…”

“She’s right Sam, we always try to get intentionally hurt. It's more fun that way!”

“Can I at least stay home? I don't feel like dying from a violent car crash today, sorry guys.” Darla then flinched. Oh no, wrong wording, wrong wording!

“Aw shucks, is this what it's all about?” our friendly dog-tective sleepily smiled, patting The Geek on her head. No wait, that was Max. “I know school can be a drag for the ingenious youth such as yourself, but one can learn many wonderful subjects outside the typical repetitive courses.”

“Plus, if we let you skip school one too many times, the government takes away our custody of you.” Max nonchalantly added in, cursing something along the lines of “Damn child protection services...” under his breath. The mini Einstein pretended not to hear that swear, or the somewhat ominous comment. Instead, she tried to argue:

“But-!”

“No buts.” McGruff quickly interrupted. So much for a civil argument. “It's time to officially start the day!”

And with that Sam sluggishly made his way to the front door to start up the DeSoto. Darla took this time to whisper towards Max: “I think something’s wrong with Sam, what do you think?”

“You think so?” Max didn't even bother being secretive. “I thought it was obvious, Geek! Geez, I hope you showed better deducting skills in your essay papers for those college applications.”

“Keep your voice do- wait, really?”

“Yeah! Sam must be having delusions. No kid learns anything from school, other than to develop anxiety and a sailor’s mouth before they can finish puberty.”

“Not only that, bullethead,” Darla said a bit harsher, “you said he's sleep deprived from waking up in the middle of the night, right? It's pretty normal in adults to be waking up two or three times at night, I mean, I think you two are adults-”

Max interrupted, “no offence taken, I do glow with youth, don't I?”

“More like with immaturity, but I digress.” She continued, “but it's just one time? In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, he suddenly sits up, says something about heatstroke, and then goes back to sleep”

“Suddenly sits up… wait, that’s it! The middle of the night is usually the time where we’re in stage 5 of our sleep cycle, or REM sleep if you will, and our brains are the most-”

“Uh, Geek?” Max yawned, already not listening to her science babble, “This is already taking an eternity. And while I would love for Sam to just carry us outside, I’m pretty sure we’re all here for some half-baked comedy and a bit of wangst, not to learn. So in English, por favor.”

She answered dryly, “Nightmares.”

“Nightmares? What is he, five?”

“But it's just speculations.” Geek added with a shrug, “We need solid proof to get him singing like a canary.”

“Already thinking like a mafia boss, I’m so proud!”

“Think you can find some dirt on him? Report to me if Sam does something weird today.”

Max grinned, “Well gee, then I would have to tell you everything he does. Don't be so darn creepy, Geek.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Just call me if you see anything suspicious, Max.”

That's when they hear Sam blurt out outside: “Holy may showers raining locusts all over the newly found American west! When did I fall asleep?!”

“Like that?”

“Go for less obvious, Max. Let’s go.”

 

♤♤♤

 

“Who would've thought cowboys would be searching for the blood of Hollywood directors themselves?!” Max chirped with enthusiasm, kicking another hat-wearing rioter in the face before being dropped to the hot asphalt ground. He looked towards Sam, expecting a logical sounding but overall pretty silly explanation to this conundrum, probably having to do with repetitive gimmicks and old-fashioned stereotypes in cowboy media. Instead, he received a snore in response.

Max was flabbergasted! Or the one syllable word for flabbergasted! They’re in the middle of a big fist fight against a team of angry cowboys with signs reading “Hollywood’s on the West!”, smack dab in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard, and Sam doesn't even have the dignity to snark back at him about the downfall of Western movies!? What’s he supposed to do, listen to some dumb teenage fanfiction writer use every single word in the thesaurus to sound sm- Hey!

“For the love of… HEY SAM!”

“Zzz- wh- what?” Sam finally shakes himself awake, pulling one cowgirl who was giving his arm the death grip into three other cowpeople, knocking all four out cold. He looked around for his pal, still groggy and dislocated from the waking reality. “...Max? Where are you? And where did they come from?” He said with a sweeping motion of his other arm, pushing back five other rioters.

“Over here!” His friend waved, overwhelmed by a big group of these lasso-holding evil-doers.

“Where?” He stumbled, inadvertently dodging two cowboys, and stepping on the foot of one more.

“To your right!” Max yelled, annoyance bubbling like the boiling water in a pot someone already prepared on the sidewalk.

“Your right?” Sam whirled to the left, slapping four cowboys silly.

“NO! YOUR RIGHT! FOR FU-hhgk!” Max choked against the rope wrapped all over his person as an elderly cowman dragged him down the street, towards the campfire holding the pot for their lunch: rabbit stew!

“Hey, careful there!” The canine man finally turned towards the rabbit’s direction, making the elder stop. “I only have a dollar left in my pocket, and you know how Geek gets with that particular word.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, she finds them “unseemly” and “juvenile” and other buzzwords I don’t know the definition to,” the future meal rolled his eyes, struggling against the old man’s grip, “but she isn't here right now!”

“What? Where is she?”

“Uh, in school, Poindexter. Jesus, and I’m supposed to be the distracted one, stop stealing my gig.”

“When the hell did we drop her off?!”

“Wh- four hours ago! Get a grip on yourself, Sam!”

The lagomorph was borderline livid with Sam, if to avoid using any words to suggest actual care for his best friend. So what if at first he gave two damns about what was bothering Sam late at night? If it made their adventures less entertaining and more irritating, then this conundrum is his enemy! Max was going to find out what has made this big lug more confused than confusing!

But first, he would like to not get cooked alive.

With newfound determination, Max wiggled like he’s never wiggled before, until he slipped out of the aging man’s arm. Unfortunately, the vibrations and angles in which he wiggled sent him directly towards the fire, lighting him ablaze in less than 2.5 seconds. With a scream he once again caught the attention of his partner.

Sam’s sleepy eyes shot open at what he saw, freezing right in his tracks like a scratched straight-to-dvd movie disc.

“Max?”

“Who would've thought age and an open fire sparks your once dead nerves right back up? Anyways…” The hyperkinetic bunny thing chomped down on the crispy and brittle rope closest to his shark-like teeth, rolling out of the firepit once it disintegrated off his body.

With his new found freedom and alarming appearance, he lunged at the cowboys and served them his specialty, cold hard justice ala Max, with a side of their own blood. His otherworldly wrath and bulbous bunny appendages left at least ten critically injured, and maybe one or two dead. Hopefully. The rest finally listened to their terrified freudian egos, and ran away.

“Those card game nerds were right, fire does add to your strength! Hey Samuel, still awake?”

“Wide awake…” the shocked dog man spoke slowly, each of his movements sluggish and dizzy.

No, no he couldn't be awake, this isn't reality. This already happened, it couldn't be happening again, he can't handle it again-

“Great! Then could you help me put out this fire? Don't know how much longer until my skin starts falling off.”

…

Oh thank goodness, it was just normal fire.

Sam snapped out of his trance, and for once spoke clearly: “Oh, right! Hold on there little buddy.” He grabbed Max by the ankles, and plunged him into the pot of boiling water, putting out the flames with a satisfactory hiss. “How do you feel?”

“Burned, but less so.”

“That’s a relief,” our favorite crime-fighting K-9 sighed, lowering Max back to the ground. “For a second there I thought you would burn alive in a blaze of glory. What am I supposed to do with a fillet of medium-rare bunny meat?”

Max… honestly didn't believe him, but played along: “You could always slap criminals around with it. That way, I would never leave your heart and fever dreams.”

“You already do, ol’ chum.”

“Eugh, too sappy, Sam.”

“Sorry, I’ll tone it down.”

 

♤♤♤

 

Geek had stopped paying attention 4 hours ago. She didn't have time for middle school level spanish, she already finished college level when she didn't have time for elementary school level mathematics. Right now, what she really needed was a lead, the first cardboard piece to begin building the jigsaw puzzle that was a possibly triangle-shaped dog brain. But that lead, like everything cool in this damn country, needed to come from her rabbity guardian and co-worker.

“C’mon, Max, get me outta here…”

She stared at the intercom with intensity, hoping to will it into calling her name to the front office, when…

**Beeeeeep**

“Can the following students please come to the front office: Sierra Pacheco, Clara Calamity, Nicolas Angelman…”

With every new name rolled out of the secretary’s bored, over-colored lips, The Geek lost a little bit more hope. Oh, please don't tell her he forgot! Maybe she could run some experiments on his brain, sharpen it up with a simulated pencil sharpener.

“Don Webs- hey! Let go of that!”

Or maybe not!

“Darla Gugenheek,” called out a falsetto voice with an exaggerated Brooklyn accent, “Darly, it's your mudder, come on down sweetie, we gotta go tuh your doctawh's appointment wit' Dr. Igo Tit.”

As the speakers practically blew up from the rabbit’s sudden burst of laughter, prompting many twelve year olds to find a sudden need to go to the bathroom, Darla swiftly sweeped her materials into her book bag, and got the hell out of there. Walking down the corridors, she passed another student skipping class, hair messy and eyes tired, who immediately began following her. She didn't need this crap right now, Jesus Christ...

“What are you-”

The older student shushed, keeping close enough that her groggy, mumbly voice still reached the redhead’s ear. “Just wanna get outta here. Give me a ride to the corner store, and I won't bother you again, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Geek muttered back, knowing full well that Max probably came alone, and school’s not really in walking range from neither their home, nor his office. “My, uh, my “mom” isn't that great of a driver, kinda distracted.”

“Don't care, as long as she can drive.”

He can’t, but some entertainment never hurts.

Without another word, Darla continued on towards the front office, where Max was waiting, wigged out and sporting a mint green mumu. The secretary was nowhere in sight, probably not willing to tolerate his incessant laughing anymore.

“Hey, Max-”

“-ehehehehehehehehehe! Gugenheek! Ahahahahahhahahaha!”

“Shut up, Max.” She pointed at her unwanted partner. “She wants a ride to the corner store. Wanna give her a ride, or are you feeling merciful today?”

“You know I never feel merciful, Geek,” Max replied with a mischievous grin, pulling out the DeSoto’s keys out of… well, not out of the mumu, that thing had no pockets.

 

♤♤♤

 

Soon, Miss skipper regretted her little ride, when the Geek’s “mother” made another sharp turn that almost flipped the vehicle.

“Yo, your mom’s freakin’ insane!”

“Hun, how old are ya?” Max made another sharp turn that caused a minor car crash behind him.

“13?”

“Then quit that sass, you're at that age where I stop finding that type of attitude endearing!”

“So,” spoke up Geek, too laid back to be considered legitimately sane, “How did you get the keys? I thought Sam hated it when you drive”

“Heck yeah he hates it!” The crossdressing lagomorph quipped, swerving between cars like a needle handled by a drunken granny, “In normal situations, I’m pretty sure I would be out the window before I can even think about riding this beauty, but for once his narcolepsy has proven itself useful.”

“You’re gonna miss the turn.”

“Oh! Thanks!”

He made a right that felt more like a U-turn, receiving a shriek from Miss skipper in the back, not too far off from the wail of a newborn police siren.

“Speaking of which, spill the beans already. Figured something out?”

Max would’ve liked to pretend that he had no clue what she was talking about, mess with her just to get a reaction. But really, just being reminded that Sam was more of a buzzkill than usual turned his smile into a frown, and instead began his loaded rant about the crummy little trip he had just half an hour ago.

“Oh, don’t get me STARTED on that guy Geek, don’t get me started on how much of a lazy-”

A car blared it's horns while the trio whooshed right past a red light,

“-he was today! We’re surrounded by cowboys left and right, and he has the AUDACITY to fall asleep smack dab in the middle of the god-”

A woman shrieked, jumping out of the way of the DeSoto with impressive reflexes,

“-mob, Geek! A MOB! And he had the eyesight of an 80 year old man. Where are you, Max? Right here! Where? RIGHT IN-”

They drive past an opera house, where world famous opera singer Natalie Moonhowler dazzles her audience with her award-winning, window-shattering high notes,

“-FRONT OF YOU! He couldn’t even tell you weren’t there four hours after we dropped you off! GOD!”

Max heaved, tapping the steering wheel with impatience; all the while, Miss skipper slouched in her seat in embarrassment, and The Geek calmly pulled out a jar of money from under her seat.

“it's all out?”

He snorts out a puff of air from his nose, and immediately straightens back up with a big toothy grin.

“Yep! That'd be all!”

“Good,” Darla nods and leans the mouth of the jar towards the reckless driver, “That’ll be 15 dollars.”

“Aww, a discount? You’re the best, Geek!” Max chirped, and placed a (thankfully still pinned) grenade inside the swear bank. “Keep the change.”

“Nice. But, you’re still aware this is because Sam isn't getting any sleep, right?”

The wigged Lagomorph clenched his teeth, because yeah that detail was still stuck on the back of his skull, along with all the chewed gum he has inhaled while sniffing for tracks. But he wanted to be mad with someone, and while he should be mad at whatever has been taking away his partners peaceful sleep, this concept was currently lodged inside Sam’s head, so he got caught in the spitfire.

The car went unnaturally silent.

“Hey, it's ok, uh, Mrs. Gugenheek,” the skipper began softly, not wanting to bear the tension of the sudden silence inside the car, conveniently ignoring the screams of terrified pedestrians, “It isn't his fault, and you're not mad at Mr. Gugenheek-”

“Say Gugenheek again,” The Geek growled, not appreciating this sudden over-familiarity, “and we’re kicking you to the curb.”

“Yeah! Anyways, shut up skippy” Added Max, not liking where this melodrama was going, “yes I’m totally mad at Sam, and yes it's his fault. He’s not acting like himself, and it's ruining my fun! He’s not supposed to be slow, or confused, or clumsy, he’s supposed to be cheerfully running around, stealing stuff and interrogating all of our friends like the Miranda rights don't exist yet. I hate it, and I’m pretty damn sure he hates it more than I do, but being the stubborn mutt he is, he doesn't have the guts to tell us what's bothering him. Well we’re finding out, whether he likes it or not, and we’re beating its butt into the stratosphere!”

“That speech would've been inspiring and blood pumping,” Said Geek, voice clear but monotone and bored, “if we had any proof to our theory. How are we going to kick the butt of something figurative?”

“I can figure something out…”

“Max!”

“Alright! Alright, let me think, woman. Sheesh!”

The Mumu-wearing lagomorph sat back, crossed his arms behind his head, and placed his feet on the wheel, driving a bit better in this position. At least he wasn't actively trying to hit something.

“Let’s see… oh wait! There was something else! So I was struggling against this old coot who was trying to boil my cute little tail off, and BAM! I fell into some open flames. As soon as I caught on fire, all Sam could do was watch in horror.”

“Uh, that’s a bad thing? I’m pretty sure you should be freaking out at burning loved ones” commented Skipper.

“He knows full well that I’m an indestructible menace to society! I’m pretty sure only bullets can kill me.”

“Yeah, they do that.”

“That might be just what we need,” Geek thought out loud, tapping her chin in a rhythm not too far off from a Morse code message. But it's not, because I’m not looking Morse code up now. “If he's suddenly terrified of you being on fire, then that must be what his nightmares are about! By golly we got him!”

“ye-heah, Geek!” Whooped Max, sitting back straight in time to drive through a conveniently placed ramp, and catch some sweet air. With a thump to the pavement, they bounce inside the vehicle, and he continues his quickly forming plan; “alrighty, I think I know someone who’ll peel him apart like a plump onion. She's been out of the business for a while now, but I’m sure she won't mind taking in an old timer for some dream analysis.”

“Perfect! Then let's go expose Sam.”

“Hey,” Our silent-no-more skipper spoke up, seemingly putting two and two together; “You’re the police who do freelance work, right?”

“Yep!”

“... You're married to be big dog one?”

Max sighs dramatically, and began his Brooklyn act again, “Sometimes I don't know who’s I married, sweetie.”

“Is he fucking with me?”

“I don't know, he’s one half dumb and another half idiotic,” yawned Geek, pulling out her swear jar once more, this time towards their passenger.

Skipper groaned, “Nevermind. Just drop me off here buddy, I’m broke.”

 

♤♤♤

 

Max threw the mumu into the backseat of the DeSoto. He loves it, but it was beginning to itch and hitch and do other stupid dress stuff. Besides, he needed the mobility for what he and Geek needed to pull off, considering their office is already small enough for Sam to just get to them in less than ten seconds.

Geek patted Max’s back, as some sort of reassurance, “Ready?”

“I’m always ready!” He replied, “how bout you?”

She took a deep breath, looking up at the window to their office, “I’m not sure, this will be tricky, in more ways than one…”

Well sure, that’s true, they ARE going against a six footer, one heck of a formidable foe. But hey, it just adds to the fun. So Max, the amazing parental figure he is, grabbed her hand from his back, a bent her arm so her open palm was now in good position to pat herself in reassurance. The redhead rolled her eyes at his attempts to comfort, but she couldn’t really complain, only take the prompt to pat herself in the back, and maybe smile a bit at the lagomorph’s effort.

“Ok, now I’m ready.”

With newfound confidence in their steps, the smaller members of the freelance police made their way up the stairs, towards the office that held the sleep-deprived canine man.

“There you are, Max!” Said the supposedly sleep-deprived canine man, replacing the telephone speaker back to it’s shiny black base. As he continued, the duo’s eyes slowly moved towards the desk, “Where’d you been? The commissioner just called us with a new, stupendously idiotic case to entertain us for a while.”

“Oh, y’know,” responded Max, as his eyes landed on the plastic coffee cups littering Sam’s work space, all empty of the dark, bitter drink, “went out for a while, did some errands, picked up… stuff.”

“Well, that explains why you have this.”

Sam grabbed the keys hanging from Max’s finger, to which he realized how much harder this was going to be, with no control of the DeSoto, and with Sam awake and alert thanks to the power of caffeine. But who the hell was he kidding? These things were never easy. You talked with people, you got them stuff, you ruined a few lives, and then you found out your friend had everything you needed just behind his counter. But he had to do it, no matter how repetitive and puzzle-y it can be. Max figuratively tightened his big boy pants, and looked at Sam straight on, speaking as maturely as he could: by terribly imitating Sam’s noir-like talk.

“Sam, your sleeping schedule’s jacked up beyond belief. Me and-” he side-glanced towards the door, catching a glimpse of the Geek giving him a thumbs up. “Darla and I think the sandman isn’t being too friendly with you at night. Might be using you for his late-night horror marathons, y’know? It’s bumming you out, and it’s bumming me out too. Stop being so damn bummy, and get help with us.”

The canine didn’t stop staring at his buddy. Not for one second. Said buddy wasn’t even sure if he even absorbed what he just said. Nevertheless, he trotted towards Sam, watching for any sudden movements that would come across as “I’m gonna make a daring escape.”

He continued, much more gently and (hopefully) reassuringly; “C’mon Sam, let’s talk about it with Sybil! She might be willing to go back to psychotherapy for a few more minutes.”

However, even as he slowly nodded to Max’s every word, and he didn’t resist to the lagomorph grabbing his hand, the struggle began when Max pulled. No matter how hard he tried, Sam simply didn’t budge from his position. It felt like giving a baby circus elephant a walk while its mother’s a few feet away, awaiting renewed incarceration, and right now Max didn’t feel like tolerating this.

“For the love of-! Geek! Help me out here!”

But even with the redhead’s contribution, Dexter Dogtective over here wouldn’t budge, super-glued to the ground by what they assume is his anxiety.

“Jeez!” Geek groaned as she pushed with Max’s pull, “This is at least 100 pounds of dead weight on him!”

“Sam…” Max hissed, strained and shaky, “stop… resisting… right… this… instant!”

THUD!

Down he went when Sam finally let go of his hand.

God he’s hating this with all his might.

“Thank you for worrying about me, honest!” Sam said as he backed off, sending Geek to the floor as well. “But I’m fine, they’re just nasty dreams forged from randomized pieces of data my subconscious is attempting in vain to make sense of. They’ll vaporize into nothingness, and it’ll be back to dreamless sleep for me.”

Yeah, no, Max isn’t buying it, as much as he wants to trust the vendor. As he got up, Sam was already out of the office, possibly out of the building as well.

“Geek, c’mon! Before he-“

Too late. They hear the tires of the DeSoto squeal as Sam books it outta there.

Max groaned.

“That’s going to be problem” our Sherlock muttered.

“Really now?”

“Look, I think I have something that’ll help us right now:”

With pride, and maybe a bit more enthusiasm than expected, Geek pulled out a small remote, pressing one of its big silicone buttons with a small beep. The ground shook with the force of a small earthquake, and the entire street split into two. One side elevated to reveal a ramp going deep underground, into her subterranean lab. From it came a small vehicle, quick yet powerful in its movements, sporting a scoop half its size. Max's eyes lit up at the sight of the wheeled beast.

“Oh sweet baby Christ! Geek, what’s that beautiful machine called?!”

“Max, it’s a bulldozer. I modified a bulldozer. I did not invent it.”

“... I knew that.” Max’s whimsy left him. Oh well! “You know where our old office is?”

“I believe so.” Geek nodded.

“Then let’s roll-out!”

 

♤♤♤

 

Well gee, who would’ve thought tracking Sam down would be as easy as 1-2-3?

One: get in the bulldozer,

Two: turn on it’s built-in GPS, which has been already keeping an eye out for the tracking device stuck to the DeSoto’s trunk,

And Three: speed off it in that direction!

Before he knew it, Sam found himself being tailgated by a mini bulldozer ripping through the streets, driven chaotically by a 12 year old and a killer rabbit.

Max stood up, pulling out an oversized megaphone: “Sam, pull over, or I will use excessive force bordering on police brutality.”

The canine man didn’t mutter a word, didn’t even bother giving them a side glance. Instead, he frowned and floored it, speeding away from the mini-bully. Oh hell no!

Geek pumped the gas in response, sending the vehicle in a wobbly ride between annoyed drivers and crashing into conveniently placed fruit carts before stomping back into balance. Time to push that PG-13 rating. In one swift movement, Max replaced his megaphone with the oversized Luger-morph, pointing the bad boy at the DeSoto.

“Sam, the Fox censors aren’t here to stop me! Pull over or I’ll shoot!”

Sam was in a cold sweat. They were in a fairly straight line, there weren’t any alleys big enough where he could hide or take a shortcut, and his precious car was already going above the speed he could usually manage. With any other annoyance, he could simply brake abruptly, but that always ended bad for them, 6 months to a coma bad. All he could do was grunt.

“Don’t turn the DeSoto into your accomplice, you mangy bastard! I’ll use that "ah-eem" trick of yours!!!”

With that, both the freelance officers noticed a turn not too far off, almost clogged with New York cars. If Sam got in, they would lose him.

“Uh, Max?” Geek lightly shook his arm, noticing their conundrum as well, “you better start turning that threat into a promise!”

“Wait for it…”

They waited, watching as the four-way came closer and closer to an alarming rate, traffic lights being of no use against a speeding dog man.

“Max!”

“Hold on! Slow it down a bit!”

Geek did as told, creating space between the DeSoto and the mini-bully. Sam quickly took the chance to swerve to the right as abruptly as possible. Without hesitation, Max aimed at the now-visible front wheels and fired, two of the three bullets hitting bullseye! Sam lost control of the wheel, and rammed the poor old car straight into the thick pole holding up the traffic signals, like an irritated bull attempting to skewer a cocky toreador with her award-winning “cuernos de la muerte.” Nevermind, traffic lights came out on top with its usefulness, who knew.

Sam couldn’t see straight, his head throbbing with a force of an angry ancient warrior threatening the puny enemy. He couldn’t even get a step outside the car before the Lagomorph triumphantly bellowed; “DEATH FROM ABOVE!”

 

♤♤♤

 

The multi-talented lady sat in her eccentric office, waiting patiently for any new customers that may need advice on handling 4-year-old cryptids. Her own little creature, a 5-feet-tall golem baby of the name Liberty, cheerfully doodled on a few of mommy Sybil’s less important paperwork on the floor. To the two gals, it was a peaceful, and honestly uneventful evening.

Well, jokes on them, because an event literally crashes through their door, in the form of a mini-genius and a rabbity-thing driving a tiny bulldozer, all while carrying a tied up and  disgruntled irish wolfhound in the scoop.

“Max!” Sybil chirped once she saw her old friend, scrunching her face at the sight of the canine wrapped up like a christmas present, “Sam?”

“Hi Sybil!”

“Guys, I haven’t seen you in almost two years, what’s going on?”

“Well, you see,” Max dismounted the mini-bully, big sheepish smile on his face, “Bunch of life happened. Bigger home, bigger cases, bigger family, bigger BOOMS, it’s a huge mess. But now I’m here! becauseit’sconvenienttome.”

The woman sighed, shaking her head at the lagomorph’s antics. Still, it was nice to see Max in person again, after months of calls and text messages for some gossip and morbid humor disguised as wacky tic tac images.

“Does it have to do with Sam over here?” She pointed out at the grump inside the scoop, trying not to burst out into laughter at the dog man’s misfortune.

“Actually, yes. He’s been giving us some real trouble in our day to day lives, it’s a real pest!”

Darla loudly cleared her throat from the bulldozer, subtly reminding Max of the other, BIGGER problem. He thankfully caught on.

“Oh! And he might be psychologically tormented by memories of the past in his sleep.”

Geek took this as a cue to not-so-gently drop their cargo onto the office’s floor with an OOF, stepping out of the vehicle herself.

“Max said that you could possibly help with his night terrors,” She added, “if you were willing to come out of retirement for a while.”

Sybil thought about it. Well, she hasn’t done psychoanalysis in a good while now, so she might be a tad rusty. “I don’t know…” she tapped her cheek in thought, “what’s going on with him?”

Max immediately bombarded her with a long list of wrongs: “Well, he suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night, can’t concentrate, falls asleep everywhere he goes, can’t tell what’s right or left, complains about heatstroke, his non sequiturs are absolute garbage, isn’t all that responsive, terrified of fire now, specifically on my head-”

“Did you just say heatstroke?”

“Yeah, heatstroke. Every Time he wakes up in the middle of the night, he says he’s suffering from a heatstroke.” It’s a surprise Max didn’t notice the pattern. “Why?”

“Because…” the psychotherapist began pacing around her small building, “if his excuse for waking up in the middle of the night is heatstroke, then that means the concept of heat is on his mind already, meaning he was thinking OR dreaming about it. He wakes up suddenly, meaning whatever heat he’s waking up from is not pleasant, which could be from fire or fire-wielding weapons. He’s having nightmares about fire!”

“Yeah, we already know that, Mrs. Pandemik,” Geek deadpanned.

Sybil didn’t say anything. The epiphany was not something she wanted to share, nor to even manifest into being with her suddenly dry mouth. Mrs. Pandemik felt her chest ache for this conundrum her friend was in. Did Max forget? Ignored it? Suppressed it?

“Uh, Sybil?”

She snapped out of it, and turned to the confused rabbit with a forced smile, “I’ll help you with Sam, no problem!”

Max cheered, and the Geek seemed to let out a breath of relief. Without hesitation, Sybil picked up the young stone girl still doodling away, as if she hasn’t caught on the wild visit that was going on, and gingerly let her down beside Max. “Could you keep an eye on Liberty while I go through the dream analysis? It won’t take me long.”

“No problem,” Max patted the baby golem’s arm, his stance already radiating confidence and danger, “Lib here will be a piece of granite cake!”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t accidentally sell her to an eccentric billionaire,” Geek chipped in, causing Sybil to chuckle semi-anxiously.

“Thank you Max, and Miss…?”

“Call me the Geek, it’s less cringe inducing than my actual name.”

“Oh, Geek! So nice to meet you. Max has told me a lot about you-”

“Alright Sybil thanks!” He quickly budged in, “Don’t untie Sam, he might lock you in a closet, we’ll be right back!”

And with that, he pushed out the Redheaded pre-teen and the tiny statue out of Sybil’s office.

 

♤♤♤

 

“Nice going with introductions, Max.”

“Eh?” Max looked behind him where Geek sat, reclining on the building’s purple wall.

“Didn’t know you were friends with, well, anyone other than Sam. Who’s Sybil?”

Repositioning himself, the lagomorph nonchalantly began while pointing at the buildings; “oh sure I have friends! There’s Sybil back here, Bosco and over there, his mother is also a friend, oh! Flint’s freakin’ amazing, he’s an old neighbor of ours, the monument of Abraham Lincoln brought to life, Grampa Stinky at that diner-“

“Ok ok, you used to live here, cool,” Geek stopped him, “Now, who’s Sybil?”

“We met her a few years back after a hypnotized former child star kidnapped her and locked her inside her closet. Honestly the most normal one out of all of us.” He continued, laying belly down to see what little Lib was scribbling beside him, “Now we don’t see her all that much, moved out and all, but I still gossip with her from time to time. She’s pretty great, I’ve gotten a ton of blackmail material for my enemies through her.”

“Sounds like a solid friendship.”

“Ah, I think she’s a bit more buddy-buddy with Sam, he did most of the talking when we met people. No wonder she stepped in when we needed to save the big guy.”

The 12-year-old perked up when she heard this detail. Save Sam? When did that happen?

“Tell me more.” Geek demanded as she stood up and walked towards Max. He gave her the stink eye for the sudden tone, but did so:

““Please Max!” No problem, you polite geek you. Sam gained electromagnetic powers from a telephone mishap, it got better and worse, then he swallowed a cthonic being from another dimension, and suddenly he was a jillion feet tall hellbeast bent on swallowing all sorts of energy found across New York. So I teamed up with a wacky, thousand-year-old cultist, his abdomen elder god, and a pregnant Sybil to go inside Sam and get rid of a dark matter tumor infecting his mind  before it blew him and most of the city up.”

Saying that Geek was impressed was an understatement.

“Damn,” she cursed under her breath, “that’s incredible. Can’t believe you actually managed to save Sam from that!”

“Oh, we didn’t,” Max corrected, which twisted the Geek’s expression with confusion. “We had to get out of there before any actual progress was made, so instead I blew Sam up with military missiles.”

He returned his attention back to Sybil’s girl, chirping something about her drawing, but Darla had stopped listening. Instead, she attempted to process how that was a possibility. The more she thought, the less his story lined up with even the most relevant events.

Instead, she focused on how it could be another possibility, from somewhere else outside her New York’s events.

Meanwhile, inside, Sybil sat silently with Sam. She herself was going through what her K-9 friend had narrated, as well as focusing in being calm, understanding, and responsible for her patient. He didn’t dare look at her.

“Sam,” she finally began, “your nightmares seem to be a side effect of grief and loneliness. You haven’t found peace with the events that have triggered these dreams in the first place.”

He still didn’t move, didn’t mutter a single word. Sybil wasn’t sure what else to say, if she should comfort the canine, or ask him to follow some procedure; she simply didn’t want the usually chatty detective to be so quiet. She became relieved and concerned when he finally made a noise, a forlorn whine from the back of his throat, and jumped into action.

“Sam, it’s fine! You’re not expected to get over it on your own, you can always get help, speak with loved ones, and they’ll be there.”

He finally turned to the professional, stern eyes causing her to move back in surprise.

“It’s not fine. Sybil, it’s not going how you think it’s going. I’m not at home, locking myself in my room and sulking like a troubled teenager with uneducated parents who don’t know the difference between rebellious laziness and clinical depression. Everything else feels fine; the commissioner always give us more than extraordinary cases for us to solve, the Geek always creates wonderfully creative and destructive machines for us to exploit, and Max is the adorably deadly partner and friend he always was. It all feels real and more wonderful than candyland with an increased crime rate.”

“Then… what’s the problem?”

“I might be reading this entirely wrong, but the weeping, black-gowned widow that is my subconscious might believe I’m getting over it a tad too quickly. It’s when I’m left at her mercy that she chooses to attack with horrific memories of what “REALLY” happened. Even if they’ve been dramatized to hell and back.”

Sybil nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry Sam. I… I don’t really know how to help you there. Dreams can last from a few days to forever. It’s one of the nastier side effects of these kinds of experiences.”

“I’ve noticed” Sam mutters, leaning forward to prop his arms on his knees, “doesn’t help that waking up only confirms her delusional conclusions. Look! Max isn’t there! It’s because he’s dead!”

Sybil blinked. That sentence sparked her eureka gland, setting her lightbulb aglow. With a grin, she stood up at lightning speed and grabbed Sam’s hand, clumsily lifting him up.

“Woah, hey now! What’s gotten into you?”

“Sam,” Sybil squeaked, smiling with excitement, “I know what can help! Let’s go.”

“Really? Alright then.”

 

♤♤♤

 

Max stopped laughing again.

“Wait, lemme run this around again…”

He sat back down on the roof of the moving mini bully, taking a deep breath and slapping his own face to avoid any unwanted “bursts”. “Sybil ordered you… hehe… she-she ordered you, in order for this nightmare garbage to end- ehehe- to go to SLEEP. WITH A TOAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

The dog man and teen girl frowned as the lagomorph lost himself to hysterics once more, banging on the roof with his fists and feet with vigor.

Sam huffed. “You’re real supportive, little buddy, you know that?”

“Don’t get your ears in a twist, ya big log,” Max sassed back, “Not my fault Sybil decided to play pediatrician and ordered you to hug your favowite pwushie for beddy-bye.”

“Then you won’t mind if I sell off all of your action figures on the internet, eh? We might be a tad tight on money for rent this month, after all.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Why? They’re just toys, and you’re all grown up to be playing with toys, right?”

“…You’re not afraid of making me your sworn enemy, I can respect and pity that. Touché.”

“Honestly? I think that was a good call from her part,” Geek spoke up, “if you’re scared, you want to be around others, right? It’s comforting, and it theoretically means you’ll have better chances of survival from anything dangerous that might cause said fear. Waking up to holding “someone” soft and pleasant is a great calming factor, since you immediately know that you’re not alone.”

Max shrugged, “guess I can’t argue with the science of owning stuffed toys for your weak and frightened little heart.”

“Anything to motivate Sam to actually do it, both of your masculinities are way too fragile.”

Sam smiled, touched by her dry thoughtfulness, “Aw, thanks Geek, you’re the best.”

“Don’t mention it. Ok, we’re here.”

She abruptly braked the bulldozer, sending Max flying off the roof and into the Max-shaped topiary in front of their cluttered yet comfortable suburban home. He climbed inside and popped out his head, mostly unharmed, other than a couple of leaves lodged into many of his ortifices.

“Nice one, Geek! But if you really wanna beat Sam’s record, you gotta speed up and then break hard!”

She snorts as she dismounts the bulldozer after Sam, clicking the button once more to send their temporary vehicle back to the pits of the underworld, and then back up a tad to park it just under her lab. Like it was never used.

“I’ll be right back, fellas,” called out Sam from the front porch, “Let me check the Attic for any forgotten plushes from far-gone childhood.”

“No problam-o, Sam-o” called Max back. The canine entered, but before the lagomorph could as well for some well-deserved not air conditioner, as it was still very much broken, Geek stopped him again. He broke into a grin with amusement.

“Boy, twice in a day you wanna speak to me? I’m feeling blessed! But not now, I need to cough up a branch stuck in my trachea, or you’ll be hearing me all night.”

“This is quick, I promise.” Geek looked back at the porch, as to make sure no sudden dog was sniffing up the wrong behind, and then at the neighboring houses for any gossipers ready to spread around something wilder than “trickster gods sent to irritate sinners to incarceration and/or suicide”. “I wanted to ask you something. Do you guys believe in the… multidimensional theory?”

Max’s grin widened. “If you can see it, and you can test it to prove that it’s real multiple times, is it a theory anymore, Geek?”

It took her a second, one second before the confirmation to her hypothesis sunk in and she gasped at the realization that potential solid proof for a practically impossible to validate theory was living right with her.

“Which one of you is it?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Max!!!”

“It’s me. I’m the one from another dimension.” Max couldn’t help but boast, he felt like moving to another dimension was the best decision he ever made! Plus, for once seeing reserved Geek so pumped about science, especially around him, was a sight to behold.

“How much-”

“Jesus Geek, calm down before your head explodes from wonder.” _Please don’t,_ he thought, trying not to gush in front of his Genius responsibility. _My kid senses are flaring up and demanding all the dopamine my glands can provide._

Sadly, Geek was no mind reader, so she straightened up, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry. How different are both your worlds? This one and the one you came from?”

“Surprisingly, even if Sam and his Max were the jerkbags who switched up our stuff that would eventually lead to me coming here, our adventures were word-for-word the exact same. Only two itty-bitty differences, really. One, we had to use a screwdriver instead of a record label to get into Myra’s show, which immediately made mine the best timeline-”

“And two, Sam blew up instead of you,” Geek finished grimly, earning a so-so gesture from Max.

“Bit further back than that. Two is that Sam got the cool electromagnetic powers, instead of me getting telepathic ones. But yeah, also decided who died.”

Geek looked at her feet, no longer as enthusiastic as she was before. “So that’s what his dreams were about,” she muttered to herself.

“Don’t get so glum, Geek. With our job, death was bound to happen!”

Darla didn’t look up.

“Hey, don’t even think about it, that’s what Sam and I do. Instead, think about how hard you can gloat in front of a conference full of adult scientists about how you found proof to an improbable theory instead of them. Seeing grown men cry makes me crack a smile!”

She finally looked up, and flashed Max a quick smile in gratitude, appreciating his efforts. She pulled him in for a hug, startling the rabbit from the sudden contact. That surprise didn’t last when he felt a sharp sting on his back.

“YEOUCH!”

Geek pulled back, her smile much more smug as she lightly waved her closed fist, clutching a clump of fur, beside her. “I’ll be using this for my studies. See what properties it contains, any anomalies it might be causing by itself, make sure you aren’t lying, all that good stuff. Can’t show up to my gloating convention without solid evidence.”

Max cackled proudly, “Good luck with that! Heard my DNA was too weird for science!”

“That’s what the big clump’s for. Besides, was it the grown ups who failed to use your DNA?”

“You got me there!”

With one final laugh, she pressed another button on her remote, activating a platform to lower her into the ground.

“Tell Sam that he was a pain to work with today. Don’t waste my time like that again!”

And with that, she was gone, like the ghost of a nagging yet admirable boss who tells his workers to get back to the job as he descends into hell to give Satan some long-awaited training.

Sam finally came back out of the house, looking mildly disappointed. “Max, I- where’s the Geek?”

“You really need sleep, Sam,” said Max, turning to face the porch holding the six-foot-tall dog, “Geek went back downstairs. Wanted me to tell you that you’ve been a pain to work with, and that we can’t waste her time like that again.”

“A whole day away from the lab! That must be a new record, hyuk hyuk.” Sam’s belly laugh died down as he remembered why he went back outside; “But that oh so important sleeping will have to wait until I go out to the toy store. I couldn’t find any of my old stuffed animals, like they disappeared into thin air.”

“Or maybe we used them for target practice, and simply forgot.”

“Ah, well that was a bust. Looks like I’ll have to bear the judgemental looks of christian white mothers and teenage cashiers as I buy a toy for myself, like those nerds who collect merchandise to fill up their neverending free time.”

Max thought for a brief moment, and snapped his fingers in realization. “Be right back,” he assured, and ran back inside, bumping into Sam with impatience. The dog man went back inside, curious as to what’s gotten into his little pal, and once again bumped into him, holding onto something.

“What’s that?”

Max looked at the scruffy, dirty thing in his hands, then at Sam. He extended his arms up, allowing his friend to get a better look at the stretched, lopsided, one-eyed bunny toy.

“Geez, Sam, don’t you recognize your own favorite plushie? I’m giving it back.”

Sam blinked in surprise. He gently picked up the rabbit, it’s disfigured face cheerfully staring back at him. He smiles back at it. Now he remembers! How he could forget that time when Max woke him up from his peaceful rest with a glass-shattering scream? He had teased the rabbit kit for his girlish screams, but stopped when he realized that he was homesick, craving to wake up next to his older sister for comfort.

 

…

 

“Oh! Uh, s-sorry Max.”

The pup felt the oversized spider of guilt crawl up his back as the young rabbit squeaked again to the sound of thunder, covering his ears in fear. “I didn’t know you were afraid of thunder.”

“Shut up, Sam! No I’m not!” Yelled the kit, trying hard not to burst into tears in front of his new friend. Of course, his shuddering lower lip and watery eyes said enough to send Sam looking for a solution.

“Well, you said you slept with your brothers and sisters?”

Max sniffed. “None of your business.”

“Well, that means you just need someone to sleep with! Problem solved!”

“How are you gonna do that, smartass?” The baby rabbit swore, eyeing at the dog boy, “break out of your house and kidnap one of my sisters?”

“No, that’s illegal. And also creepy. And I can’t open the window, or my mom will get mad. Also don’t say bad words, butthead,” scolded Sam with a frown, before going back to smiling. “I can sleep with you.”

“Sam, you can’t sleep with me!” Maxie scolded back, “You don’t look like a rabbit!”

The baby pup grabbed his ears, and turned them inside out so they would stand up straight, just like Max’s. “I could be a brown rabbit.”

“It’s not only that,” Max, seemingly more relaxed, climbed into Sam’s bed, and began manhandling his face. “You’re too triangle to be a rabbit. And you have a big nose, not a little button bunny nose. And no buck teeth! And you’re too big! You’re more of a chubby puppy.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are!”

“Am not!”

“Am too!”

“Am-“

A gigantuan thunder crashed in the sky, louder than a gunshot beside their meek faces, startling both the kids, and sending the kit back to a cowering position.

Sam finally relented with a sigh, “fine, I won’t go to sleep with you. But, I think I know what could help.” He crawled towards his pillow and reached under it, pulling out something small and soft. He shoved it into Max’s line of sight, allowing him to look back into the plushed bunny’s shiny button eyes. He looked at it, then back at Sam, who slightly nudged it into his arms. “C’mon, take it! It’ll help you sleep. I know it helps me.”

“Is this yours?”

“Yeah, but you can have it for tonight. Pretend it’s your big sister until the weekend’s over, and you can go back to your house.”

“...” Max wasn’t going to miss this moment. He grinned, “you own a stuffed rabbit? That’s creepy, Sammy. Only humans own stuffed animals.”

With a frown, Sam slowly pulled the stuffed rabbit away. “So you don’t want it?”

“No! Gimme!” Max grabbed the toy from his hands, clutched it tight, and tumbled back into his sleeping bag, cuddling into the pillow and toy.

Sam smiled. “Ok, goodnight Max!”

Max grumbled, not admitting how much better this feels.

 

…

 

Sam smiled at Max. “I thought you said someone had stolen it, little buddy.”

“Yeah, I did. I stole it after the sleepover. Now I’m giving it back.”

“Don’t need it to sleep anymore?” The canine teased. Max simply scoffed.

“I’m not a toddler, Sam, I can sleep just fine without a toy to comfort me.”

Sam kneeled and gave Max a one-armed hug, gently squeezing his sides.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for being a pain today.”

“Geez, everyone’s so lovey with me today! Are you gonna rip a clump of fur out of me as well?”

The dog man laughed, patting his partner’s back, “maybe another time, little buddy.”

 

♤♤♤

Max sat up at the sound of lightning crashing outside his window, covering his mouth before a yelp could escape his mouth. He took deep breaths to calm his marathon-run heartbeat, and glared at the window. He stared with annoyance at the gray and cold night outside, where heartbroken girls walked after being stood up by their irresponsible boyfriends, and hobos took cover inside cardboard castles and garbage can vaults.

“Stupid storm.”

He thought this idiocracy would stop once he became a freelance police, and the sound of gunshots became music to his sensitive rabbit ears. But, of course, Sam had to go and die from electricity overdose or whatever. Stupid Sam.

Max felt around for something to hug tightly and pretend he was still with his big siblings protecting him, only to find nothing. He tensed, but then remembered what he had done with the toy.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered, “I gave it to Sam.”

…

He carefully climbed down the bunk bed’s ladder, catching a glimpse of the resting dog. For once, he looked so calm and relieved, holding the stuffed rabbit close to his chest, under the crook of his chin. Max had to admit, he felt a tad jealous; for whom? He wasn’t sure, both Sam and the toy had it good at this moment.

“Sam, don’t you dare move,” The lagomorph whispered, climbing into his coworker’s bed. “I don’t feel like being crushed by a sack of lard.” He crept under the covers, and wiggled his way under Sam’s arm. There, now they could share the damn toy.

His muscles relaxed, and his eyes slowly lidded, the canine’s snores drowning out the thunder outside. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if the toy had it better or worst. He’ll think in the morning.

“Night Sam.”

As he drifted back into sleep, he made one final mental note to tell Sam that he is, in fact, a pretty comfortable rabbit.

 

Nobody really stopped the Russian swans from taking over international television and broadcasting nothing but ballet 24/7.

 

♤♤♤


End file.
